


The Otherworld

by u_muggle



Series: The Otherworld [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, Fluff, Mythical Beings & Creatures, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 12:56:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16516901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/u_muggle/pseuds/u_muggle
Summary: Every since Clara Oswald was a child she'd been able to see things others couldn't. Creatures from the pages of books and the whispered tales of myths and legends played in her garden, frolicked in the seas and haunted local parks. She thought she was the only one who's fantasies lived in reality. That was until the peculiar man with wild silver hair had other things to say on the matter.....





	The Otherworld

It had all started out with the pixies, or what, at the age of five, Clara Oswald believed to be pixies. The little blue creatures had lived in the bushes in her garden, their tiny hands used to pull aside the leaves to peer questioningly at her. Their wings fluttered in the sunlight, minuscule electric blue veins sparked across the gossamer surface.

 

She became obsessed with them, waiting hours in the garden just to catch a glimpse, putting out small pieces of bread and saucers of milk to coax them out into her world. Her blue crayons became blunted from over use, instead of painted butterflies at school it was painted pixies. Whilst other kids on Halloween were little Draculas, werewolves, princesses or cats, Clara insisted on being a blue pixie.

 

Then, almost a year later, they disappeared. No more flashes of blue and quiet giggles. The saucers of milk sat full and untouched, the bread pecked at by birds rather than snaffled by blue hands. She had sat patiently every day before and after school, her weekends spent searching in the garden. She'd asked her parents over and over again where the creatures had gone to no avail. Then Clara had cried, small trickles of tears had turned into torrents. Aching sobs and wailing echoed through the house each night until, one day, it stopped. Clara Oswald forgot about the pixies and instead gained an imaginary friend like every other small child her age.

 

At the age of eleven, stood on a stony shore in West Wales, Clara had watched the breaking waves and the mermaid darting through the murky blue water.

 

'Clara? Clara? There you are! What are you watching so intently?' her mum had asked her.

 

'The mermaid,' she had replied, pointing at the scaly green tail breaking the surface.

 

'Mermaid?' her mum had asked in confusion.

 

'Yeah, look, it's right there,' Clara had insisted, glancing between the mermaid and her mum.

 

'Ahhhh I see it now...' her mum said. Clara had sighed with relief, taken her mum's hand and continued to watch the mermaid's scales ripple with each powerful swish of its tail. 'A shiny pink tail and long blonde hair.'

 

Clara had frowned. 'No, it has a scaly green tail and pointed cat like ears.'

 

'Ah, so this isn't because you've been watching _The Little Mermaid_ a lot lately?' her mum had teased her, kissing her on the cheek.

 

'No, this is because there's a mermaid right in front of us!' Clara had insisted.

 

Over the next couple of years Clara continued to see strange, apparently mythical creatures. Nymphs, dryads, unicorns, chimera, centaurs and trolls. She found that her local park was a particular hotspot for such activity and had become increasingly exasperated at her parent's inability to see them.

 

'Clara sweetheart,' her dad had said, sitting next to her on the sofa, 'your mum and I have arranged a meeting between you and a friend of ours to talk about these things you've been seeing.'

 

The ' _friend_ ' it turned out had been a child psychiatrist. The woman had been nice to her and Clara had felt relaxed enough to describe each encounter, every sighting since she was five years old. That, it turned out, had been a mistake. Clara had soon learnt not to talk about any new phenomenon she saw, to lie, to pretend that they were just figments of her imagination, a metaphor for her need to escape reality. The psychiatrist had eventually been convinced by her lies and Clara had been declared a ' _normal_ ' teenager again.

 

Clara had never mentioned the things she saw even when those things started to become darker than unicorns or fairies. When most university students staggered home drunk from a night out, they didn't usually worry about strangely shaped monsters or shadow people slipping quietly between the light of the street lamps, stalking the obliviously happy on their way back to their halls of residence. Clara had. Most university students also didn't expect the charming man or woman on a night out to actually be an incubus. Clara unfortunately had. She had never told her friends about the unnatural things she saw, but she had saved them numerous times from the unwanted advances of the supernatural. In fact, Clara had never mentioned the things she saw ever again, to any living being. That was until today....

 

The summer holidays had finally begun and Clara had waved goodbye to Coal Hill for the next six weeks. London was experiencing a heat wave, causing its populace to descend on mass to its parks and beer gardens. On another piercingly hot day, Clara found herself wandering through Regent's Gardens. The gardens were alive with a riot of colours, bright pink begonias, purple pansies, blue and white hyacinths and dark red perlagoniums. The distinct smell of sizzling portable barbeques permeated through the hazy air of London as she strolled through the arboretum and on towards the playing fields. The trees swayed gently, their eyes watching her pass, creaking and groaning in their own language which, despite her special sight, Clara had never been able to truly understand. She spied elfin like faces peeking through the leaves, crowns of acorns adorning their heads. Smiling as they waved at her, she emerged from the unnatural forest.

 

The playing fields were awash with people lounging in the sunshine. A group of young men kicked a football around, whilst a small boy and girl ran in circles, giggling, around a picnic blanket. A middle aged woman was sat reading her book, a bunch of teenagers cooking burgers on a barbeque. And there, amongst all this life was an equally happy group of eerie floating figures.

 

Clara watched with interest as a pair of ladies in Victorian dress floated in promenade, parasols over their shoulders. A group of whiskered men stood just a way off, deep in conversation, their top hats standing proudly atop their heads. She continued to watch with amusement as the ladies floated straight through the group of seemingly oblivious footballers.

 

Clara had become used to seeing ghosts in her life. Living in London provided a while array of apparitions from throughout history, who, for the most part seemed peaceful. Despite this, she tended to actively avoid being within sight of cemeteries. The realisation that the dead didn't actually rest in peace still played on her mind.

 

As she watched the figures continue their long silenced conversations, she noticed an equally curious figure stood before the whole scene. She watched as he raised a long, wooden handled paintbrush, creating small delicate strokes on the surface of a canvas secured to a traditional styled easel. He ruffled his curly, grey hair angrily, waving his paintbrush at what seemed to be the space where a particularly tall top hatted man was gifting a small posy to a young lady. The mysterious painter was dressed all in black himself, a long woollen black coat adorned his form. She caught a glimpse of a silk red lining as he raised his paintbrush, the tailored feature of a black waistcoat underneath. The man must have been ridiculously hot in the sweltering heat, yet he seemed perfectly comfortable in his surroundings. Clara walked slightly closer, hoping to catch a glimpse of what the man was painting.

 

'Posies, it's always bloody posies,' she heard him mutter to himself.

 

Clara gasped, almost tripping over a young couple sunbathing in front of her. From her new vantage point she could now make out what the swirl of paint was on the canvas. Clara recognised the green grass of the fields and the football players, the blue cloudless sky and the numerous bright picnic blankets, but it seemed like these features were merely a background to the bold grey and white strokes of the ghostly figures. The man had already captured the group of whiskered men and was now adding detail to the hands exchanging flowers in front of him. She watched in silence, her eyes flickering constantly between the canvas and the ghosts. The young man with the posy was being thoroughly rejected by his companion. Clara laughed loudly as she turned and floated stubbornly away, leaving a perplexed figure behind her. She soon found herself the focus of a pair of startlingly sharp blue eyes. The mysterious painter had finally noticed her presence.

 

'It happens to him every week. Different girls but still the same outcome,' the man said.

 

'You can see them too?' Clara muttered in awe, ignoring the increasing number of odd looks from the living people around her.

 

'No. I'm just making this all up for a laugh,' the man deadpanned. He furrowed his remarkably large eyebrows, placed his paintbrush down on his easel and extended his paint smudged hand towards her. 'I'm the Doctor.'

 

'Clara Oswald,' she replied, taking his proffered hand and giving it a solid shake. He grimaced at her name and then smiled awkwardly at her, his face almost unused to the motion. 'So, this is normal for you.? Seeing..... things.'

 

'Why wouldn't it be?' the Doctor replied, studying her.

 

'It's just I've never met anyone else who could see them before. I thought I was the only one.'

 

'Well that's a bit stupid and entirely arrogant really. Out of the small group of people you're acquainted with nobody else had the 'ability', doesn't exactly equate to the rest of the world does it?' he stated, turning back around and starting to pack up his easel. Clara crossed her arms angrily at the rudeness of this stranger, ability or no ability there was no need to speak to her that way. She watched as he tucked his easel under his arm and started to stalk off.

 

'Wait!' she shouted, running to catch up with him. He continued striding on back through the park, ignoring her cries to halt, seemingly uninterested at finding anyone else who had this ' _ability_ ' of there's. 'Please! I just, I need to know. Everyone thought I was mad, I thought I was mad.... I have questions!' Inexplicably she noticed his strides slow and shorten, just enough so that she soon found herself side by side with him. He glanced quickly down at her, taking in her reddened cheeks and fly away hair.

 

'I don't pretend to be an expert on it all, but I can try and answer any questions you have,' he muttered softly, repositioning his easel under his arm.

 

'Thank you-,' she replied, still slightly out of breath.

 

'But not here,' he interrupted, starting to stride off towards the exit of the park. 'It's not far!' He shouted over his shoulder.

 

'What isn't?' she huffed back, standing where he'd left her, chewing her lip indecisively.

 

'My house,' he said, a wide grin spreading across his face. He held out his arm invitingly. 'Come on, I don't have all day.'

 

At a first glance his house looked like every other terraced house on Elmwood Row. A low brick wall encased a neatly kept front garden, large bay fronted windows protruded from the ground floor and a bright blue door stood proudly as the entrance way to the house. But, as they approached the property, Clara began to blink repeatedly, a slight pain throbbed just above her eyes. She glanced sideways at the Doctor, he was juggling the easel as he searched his coat pockets for the keys. Clara squeezed her eyes shut in pain. As she opened them again she gasped. The well kept garden was now a luscious mini meadow, the short cropped green grass was now a tall sea of waving red. Various strange devices were staked into the ground, many mechanical with whirring cogs. The house itself seemed to undulate, alternating between being squashed between its neighbours and pushing them apart as it grew. The only constant was the bright blue door. The Doctor had still yet to say a word. Taking a few deep breaths to quash the slight feeling of nausea, she stepped up towards the door. The Doctor already had one hand softly placed on the blue wood, he smiled as he turned the key and the door swung open with an almost human like sigh.

 

A soft hum. That was the first thing that Clara noticed about the inside of the house. The second was the ridiculous number of books piled along the sides of the hallway. The third was the unmistakable smell of paints. The Doctor walked down the hallway and disappeared into the first door on the left, leaving Clara awkwardly stood at the threshold. With a small exasperated shake of her head, she carefully followed him.

 

The soft hum intensified as she entered the brightly lit room. For all intents and purposes the room was a living room. Two large wing backed armchairs faced each other in front of a small open fireplace. The walls of the room were lined with large full bookcases, although the floor had also started to be used as additional bookcase space. As with the outside of the house, the room was not quite as it seemed. Several large tables were laid out haphazardly around the armchairs. Each table was laden with various metal objects, some occult in origin whilst others looked like pieces of a radio or the inside of a telephone. One particular object caught Clara's eye. A tall cylinder of metal, with strange carved out shapes adorning the casing, revolved slowly on its base constructed of a 78 rpm turntable. As Clara peered closer she caught sight of a more modern looking light bulb inside. Spotting the switch for the light she gently pushed the button. A large strong hand pulled her away, swiftly turning off the light.

 

'Don't touch that. In fact don't touch anything in this house until I say it's safe to do so,' the Doctor said gruffly.

 

'What is it?' Clara asked, feeling a strange adrenaline rush from the incident.

 

'It's a dream machine. It's designed to create waking hallucinations by altering the user's brainwaves,' he replied simply. 'Sit and ask whatever questions you need to.'

 

Clara cast a fleeting glance back at the dream machine before settling comfortably into one of the armchairs. The Doctor sat next to her, perched uncomfortably on the edge of his seat, the red lining of his coat displayed to full effect.

 

'Are they real?'

 

'As real as you and I,' he replied. 'I still haven't figured out if it's their decision to show themselves to us or......'

 

'When did you start to see them?' she asked shyly as he stared just over her shoulder, avoiding all eye contact with her.

 

'When I was twenty.'

 

'Twenty!?' she exclaimed. His eyes flickered to hers suddenly, his body seeming to bristle slightly at her incredulity. 'I'm sorry, it's just I started when I was five,' she admitted, giving him a comforting smile. 'It must have been hard for you at that age, at least when I started talking about pixies and fairies when I was a kid it was deemed acceptable.....'

 

The Doctor nodded slowly. Clara caught a glimpse of unguarded pain in his eyes before he coughed loudly and sank back into his chair. 'You started with pixies?' he asked.

 

'Yeah. Bright blue pixies in my garden.'

 

'Pegasus,' he said, smiling softly. 'Apparently it used to look like I was petting thin air to others.'

 

She smiled back at him.

 

'London is particularly full of these things,' he continued, waving his hand wildly in the air. 'So many varying environments contained in this urban centre, a large population with numerous cultural and religious influences tends to create this hodge podge fantasy vision we've both spent our lives living in. New York is very similar, built on similar concepts. In fact, each country has its own sights. Here in the UK, Wales is very centred around the Mabinogion, the stories of its princes and the red dragon, the hounds of Annwn and the Birds of Rhiannon, Scotland has its Loch Ness and its kelpies and selkies and I think you can guess what Ireland is famed for.'

 

'Ginger people?' Clara teased.

 

'Precisely.'

 

'So, how do you know so much about all of this? Is there like some kind of school or secret society where everyone who has this ability meets to discuss it?' she asked.

 

'No. That's ridiculous.' The Doctor stated, looking at her worriedly.

 

'Fine. Then how?' she asked again, annoyed at the return of his condescending, rude tone.

 

'I learnt about it all by myself.'

 

'Yes, but how?' Clara exclaimed in exasperation.

 

'By reading, by experimenting, by questioning them, by documenting it all in art and word,' he said simply, standing up suddenly and heading out of the door. With a sigh, Clara pulled herself up out of the depths of her armchair and followed him across the hallway, through a surprisingly clean kitchen and out into the back garden. She tumbled in surprise down the patio steps and into what seemed to be a small forest. The only clear indicator that she was actually still in the confines of the house was the small glimpses of brick wall through the foliage and the reassuring glance backwards to the kitchen behind her. The Doctor weaved expertly through the low ancients branches of the trees seemingly searching them for something. Pausing suddenly he put two long fingers into his mouth and whistled, creating a sharp almost melodic sound which Clara had never experienced before in her life. She watched in silence as a beautiful young woman leapt gracefully from an upper branch of a large oak and landing softly onto the earth below. A weaved crown of flowers and foliage was perched atop her head, long ginger hair flowed past her shoulders, tickling at the edge of her green himnation. She stood barefoot, smiling gently.

 

'Doctor,' she spoke, her voice weaving through the trees, circling Clara in a warm spring like embrace.

 

'Dryope,' the Doctor replied, bowing his head slightly towards the woman before him.

 

'And who is this beautiful creature with you this day?' Dryope asked, fixing her green eyed gaze onto Clara. She saw the Doctor look at her, frowning in confusion.

 

'This is Clara.'

 

'Welcome Clara,' Dryope said, approaching Clara and kissing her softly on the cheek. The Doctor shuffled uncomfortably next to her, clearing his throat loudly as Dryope continued to stare openly at his companion.

 

'Thanks,' Clara whispered, finding herself touching her cheek in wonder. The Doctor cleared his throat again, giving the wood nymph in front of him a pointed look. She raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow back at him and smirked.

 

'I brought Clara here as an example that under the right circumstances it is possible to talk to non human beings,' the Doctor said, leaning against a nearby tree. 'Talk to, not flirt with.' He said pointedly, peering over at a still dazed Clara. 'She just found out that she's not the only one to see into our world.'

 

'Then I would be honoured to call you a friend Clara and to offer my help in this world of ours,' Dryope announced ceremoniously.

 

'To which you reply Clara, ;the honour is mine, may our bond last till the stars cease to be',' the Doctor whispered softly to her.

 

'The honour is mine.... may our- may our bond last till the stars cease to be,' Clara repeated haltingly. The Doctor nodded in satisfaction. Dryope smiled, bowed and disappeared seamlessly into the trunk of the tree behind her.

 

'Well, congratulations Clara, you've made your second new friend of the day,' the Doctor announced proudly, apparently unfazed by the whole encounter. 'Not all beings are as charming and helpful as Dryope. Nymphs on the whole are kind to humans. Remember that and the phrase I just taught you and you won't go far wrong.'

 

'Second friend? Who was the first?' Clara questioned, still staring at the tree trunk she'd just seen a tall, beautiful tree nymph disappear into.

 

'Me of course,' the Doctor replied. Clara finally turned and looked at the man stood before her. She studied his wild, grey curls, his steady, piercing gaze and his black magician's outfit. 'That's if you want me to be,' he muttered, uncharacteristically shy.

 

'Yeah, yeah I think I'd like that,' she said, watching a large silly grin appear on the Doctor's face.

 

'Good. Good, right then. I've got a lot to teach you. First lesson, never, ever give someone in the Otherworld your full name, it's highly dangerous. We should probably get some coffee, or chips and coffee.... I think the fridge and cupboards are empty,' he mumbled to himself. Without knowing why, but knowing that right now it was the right thing to do, Clara took the Doctor's hand in hers. He tensed in surprise, looking intently down at their joined hands.

 

'Ok, no full names and coffee, but you're fetching,' Clara stated.

 

'I'm not sure I'm the fetching sort,' he muttered, still staring at their hands.

 

'I'm not sure you get a vote,' she replied, squeezing his hand and pulling him back through the trees towards the house.


End file.
